


Happy Father's Day

by hummingrightalong, itslifethatscaresmetodeath



Category: Mr. Robot (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 04:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingrightalong/pseuds/hummingrightalong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslifethatscaresmetodeath/pseuds/itslifethatscaresmetodeath
Summary: On the holiday, Elliot deals with Mr. Robot, and Malcolm is forced to visit his father.





	Happy Father's Day

Elliot hears him before he opens his eyes. He hopes it’s just a dream but he knows better. He knows what day it is too, and this is really not cool.

*Hey kiddo*

There’s something different about the sound of Robot today. The “Mr” had been removed at some point, and honestly he was lucky he got that much given his demands for a name. His last great idea had been that he be referred to as Edward. It was Elliot’s middle name after all - made sense to him. However, since It had also been his father’s first name, it only served to horrify Elliot.. 

There was no saying who chose the face his imaginary friend had first used, and he didn’t care to go round and round, cringing over that rumination any more. After everything had calmed down, after his world had gone back to a sort of normal, ‘Robot’ began appearing with a different face. 

Alright, the same face. His own. It was much easier to deal with him then (oddly enough), and occasionally he was helpful, a partner and a part of him as he’d sworn he’d intended to be. Elliot had the control unless he was out of his depth - a rare occurrence but something Elliot was actually grateful for. 

But sometimes, he was the same pain in the ass he’d always been, pulling the same old twisted bullshit. This one was admittedly a doozy.

“What the fuck!” Elliot jumps up in bed, when he finally takes it all in. The worn out baseball cap, the beaten up jacket with the store’s logo. Most importantly, the middle aged man, still healthy and smiling as he did in the last good memories of him, before he got sick. 

*Whoa, chill out kiddo. You know what day it is? I thought we maybe could hang out. Go to Coney Island. Play some games or something.*

The mannerisms and accent seem closer than ever before, like Robot is really trying. 

“What the *fuck* is wrong with you? Get out!”

*I’m kinda here for the day man* The reluctant smile falls, facade warping as Elliot watches through the tears stinging his eyes. *I was just trying to be nice*

“Well it’s not fucking cool. Take his face off.” Elliot sees his own face, suddenly, looking a bit cautious and disgusted.

*Fucked up way to put it but fine. I just thought you might wanna take a trip down memory lane. We could go to the cemetery instead if you want?*

“I don’t want to do anything with you. Not after that. Fuck you dude. Mal!” Of course he was already up, luckily he hadn’t left yet. Today should be Malcolm’s easiest day but he’d been on a case and, while not excited, eager to wrap it up today. Still he rushes in the bedroom.

Malcolm doesn't say a word, just climbs in the bed and reaches out gently, seemingly a little startled when Elliot falls into him while explaining the sight he’d woken up to. “He still here?” A nod. “You need me to get your meds.”

“Don’t think it’s going to do any good today. Not unless either of you want me to-” 

*Not that shit, please. You’re going to kill one of us. And I really didn’t mean to freak you out*

Elliot scoffs. “What, babe?”

“He’s sorry.” Malcolm raises an eyebrow. “No really, I think he is. But I don’t give a shit. And I don’t want to be alone with him. Can I go with you?”

The profiler thinks for a moment, having broken a few rules already in relating some details of the latest case to his husband. But it couldn’t hurt much, and truth be told he didn’t want to be alone today either.

***

They get through the first few security checkpoints on Malcolm Bright’s word and badge alone, despite Elliot having no reason to tag along. Finally, they hit a snag. It’s not far away from Dr. Whitley’s room.

According to the profiler, the case had been pretty obvious. It was the effort put into the arrangement, the lengths gone to get his attention, that led them here. He was absolutely certain his father had arranged it. If he took anything from his old man, much like Edward and Elliot, they were on the same level intellectually. 

So Malcolm was absolutely certain that not only had a grisly crime been committed by a man that used to work in this place, the good doctor had arranged for it. From what Elliot already knew about the man, he likely didn’t even need much time to drive the man to it. He’d also made sure that the guy had the kind of background giving him all sorts of other reasons to eventually snap. Dr. Whitley was in here for life, so there wasn’t much more they could take away from him. Human comforts maybe, though obviously boredom drove him to other pursuits and would therefore be an undesirable option. Essentially, Malcolm was just here to tell him to cut it out.

While Malcolm tries to talk his way through the checkpoint, get Elliot through at least one more door so he can be near (but not inside) Dr. Whitley’s private cell, as close to Malcolm as possible, several guards take issue with it and there’s lots of communication over walkie talkie. Malcolm is a bit put out. 

*So, this is what an insane asylum looks like*

“Yes. Now, dude, shut up.” Elliot whispers harshly, meeting Robot’s eyes, which to anybody else would look like he was staring off into space. This asshole amused, fascinated, and still carrying on about how different this place looked as opposed to the prison - only reminding Elliot about his promise that he was trying to take the blows for him but then tapped out the second it looked like they were probably about to be raped to death. Elliot couldn’t really see that many differences himself, though his memory of that experience wasn't completely reliable (ya know, except when he’d been beaten within an inch of his life). He’s a little annoyed that Robot’s seems to be more so. It wasn’t fair how much of the bad Elliot was “allowed” to remember, despite their agreement that he would have primary control of his body. unfortunately, that didn't seem to be grandfathered in...He’s lost enough in thought, distracted, almost doesn’t notice the jacked up orderly, buffer than most of the actual security guards they’d run into so far, stop before he approaches the checkpoint himself. 

“Fuck my life.” Ah, yes, an all to familiar theme in his life. Thankfully, Robot keeps his mouth shut, ducks out of sight, realizing that shit was about to get real and smart enough to know he didn't want to push it.

“You alright, can I help you with something?” Well that tone was familiar. The tone you use to deal with people inside these walls; friendly, sympathetic, cautious. There’s a bit of a threat to it, not intentional but obvious. This guy was accustomed to taking down *difficult* patients if he couldn’t talk them down. 

“He’s with me.” Malcolm states through gritted teeth.

“Dropping off?

“I will have you fired on the spot,” Malcolm starts but his husband interrupts. 

“I have DID. And I already see plenty of doctors for it thanks.” Elliot is aware that the psychiatric community is still on the fence about his condition but really, a fucking orderly rolling his eyes? He wants to tell the guy, ‘You just work here, Homie. Your job is to man handle psychopaths, no brain power or unwanted diagnoses of visitors desired or required’ but he doesn't. Malcolm has enough on his plate without him being a smartass.

“I saw you talking to what I’m sure is an outside hallucination. If that even is DID - looks more like Schizophrenia really - it’s not managed well.” The guy finds himself against the wall, staring down somebody half his size. Malcolm had *skills*. Skills you wouldn’t expect just looking at him, which he often said was an advantage.

“Trust me. He has DID. It’s managed. I will fire you on the spot if you waste any more of my time. Now, I’m here to see my *father*, Dr. Martin Whitley.” The orderly shivers, goes limp in Malcolm’s hold. 

“Sorry, sorry man. Anything I can do to help move the process along…” There’s the distinct buzz before the security gates open. Someone is there to escort Malcolm to one of their most dangerous patients.

***

Elliot watches his husband walk into the last room alone. Through a little glass in the door he can see a cell sitting inside a bare room, a single guard, and a man looking far too happy to see the detective again. 

Of course, it’s father’s day, and Malcolm is damn sure this was all planned, so maybe his old man is just happy his plans went off without a hitch.

Inside, Detective Bright sighs heavily before he begins. “Ok, why’d you do it?”

“Figure it out, son.” There’s that delirious smile. But his son knows that, while of course his father is insane, he’s capable, ‘with it’ enough not to underestimate.

“I already did. I just want you to admit it.” An approving smile, to which Malcolm tries very hard not to roll his eyes back at.

“My dear son, I’m hurt. I notice the wedding band there. I’ve never met them. I didn’t even get an invite. In any case, congratulations.” 

Malcolm is too stunned by the change of subject, by his failure to conceal the band when he entered, that he forgets to keep his guard up. “You know damn well that would be impossible, dad-” the detective resists the urge to slap himself in the face for the mistake. “Doctor.”

The lifetime resident’s soft smile reaches his eyes. “I know we have a long road, son, but you have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Oh my- you went through all this to hear me say that word? Drove a man over the edge, turned him into - into YOU, got people killed for THAT?! Are you...are you fucking kidding me?” He gets a shrug in response, the doctor moving closer, as far as the chains will let him, as if his son would come near enough to touch that hand that’s reaching out.

“Can I meet the person that’s made you so happy?”

“Of course not.”

“So they are here. The young man outside the door. What’s he do? What is he like?”

“I’d love to say none of your business, but I know you well enough to know you won’t give this up. So fine. He’s perfect, we’re very happy. But he’s had a pretty shitty day. His father, dead by the way, was actually pretty fucking great. I love him, and I wish I knew if trading places with him would make today any easier. I would if I could, if that’s what he needed. ” Dr. Whitley nods with understanding, his son sighs again. 

“He still sees him.” No point in questioning how or why he knows that. Maybe he could see Elliot on the other side of the glass, talking to Robot. Maybe the logical leaps necessary had nothing to do with today’s meeting. There was no point in worrying about it. 

Malcolm knows what he’s been led here for. And for once, giving Dr. Whitley exactly what he wants may just be better for everyone. “Happy Father's Day.” Malcolm says on his way out.

Elliot greets him as soon as the door closes, seeing the eager face of his, well, father in-law, doing his best to catch a peek. Creepy. As if what the man had done wasn’t bad enough, his presence was unsettling just from a brief moment of eye contact. 

“I know it’s been a long day...but I need to make one more stop.” There’d been a time when Elliot wouldn’t have enough asked for something he needed, but his husband knew exactly where they had to stop.

“Of course.” A quiet look between them. “I’m fine. He just wanted to hear it.”

***

Edward’s plot is well kept, in a perfect place with the sun shining on it. That just seemed right. Malcolm walks most of the way through the rows, stopping a respectful distance to let Elliot say whatever he needed to.

When Elliot kneels in front of his father’s stone he feels a hand on his shoulder. Not bothering to look back, he reaches up and places his own over Robot’s.

*You know, I lost him too*

Hard to argue with that, and somehow- like they’d agreed before- they were a team in this moment. He needed this. The doctors had been right. He couldn’t get rid of a part of himself. Elliot needed Robot. 

“Happy Father’s Day.” 

***

It’s late when they finally get home. Malcolm sends a message to Gil, letting him know not to expect him in for at least another day. Elliot leaves a voice recording for Darlene, knowing she’s dealing with today in her own way, ‘I love you, call me when you need me’. Another text to Tyrell and Leon to ask one of them to open the store tomorrow. As if he’d even needed to.

The rest of the evening both men go about their usual routines. Until they climb into bed. Malcolm gauges whether it’s appropriate tonight to watch appreciatively as Elliot gets undressed. He always insists on sleeping naked, often insisting Malcolm do the same. He likes to cuddle. The fact that it doesn’t usually lead to sex never bothers the detective. Not just because they’re both busy men, but because he loves every facet of Elliot exactly as he is.

Tonight, something’s different. There’s heat to what he expected was a goodnight kiss. As soon as they’re both under the covers Elliot pulls Malcolm close. Pressed together like this, the latter feels his husband getting hard, and that’s all it takes for the heat of that kiss, the little nibbles traveling over his throat to go straight to his dick.

Malcolm knows better than to ask if his husband is sure, to question if this is about being in the occasional mood to fuck or because he wants to distract himself. He understands that asexuality is a spectrum and that Elliot still sometimes wants to express their love this way. Even if he’s not in the mood himself, he still likes getting Malcolm off sometimes. 

Elliot starts with a hand wrapped around Malcolm’s dick, getting him close, barely separating when he reaches out with his free hand to find the lube. Malcolm groans into their kiss when he feels Elliot working himself open while they’re pressed together. 

The latter rolls onto his back, slathers more lube onto Malcolm’s dick. “You close?” A mumble in the affirmative is all he gets while the detective positions himself between his legs. “Me too. Fuck me.” 

Impossibly considerate, and an obsessive study of everything, Malcolm knows Elliot’s body as well as his own, exactly how to hit his prostate at an impressive rate, statistically speaking. Elliot laughs when Malcolm’s hand goes to the back of his head. “Sorry. Thinking about math.”

“I can tell,” Malcolm whispers, free arm going under Elliot’s knee to change the angle. The position has them impossible close, and Malcolm switches to shallow thrusts, slower now, trying to outlast long enough to get his partner off first. Elliot’s leg flung over his shoulder now, and how close the position puts them, is driving him crazy. “Me too.”

When they’ve both come, Malcolm carefully pulls out and rolls over. Elliot giggles as he kicks off the blankets and sheets. As soon as he’s caught his breath he’ll want to change the bedding, he’s a major neat freak. For now he leans over and grabs Elliot’s discarded hoodie. “Hey, so I was thinking...if we ever get our shit together…maybe we could make this day about us.”

“Adoption, obviously?”

“Uh, yeah. Unless you want to take a spin in the genetic minefield between either of us?” Hardly an actual question. It’s not fair but true. Mental illness obviously runs deep in both of their bloodlines and neither wants to risk a child being put through that. There’s always a chance, no matter what option they choose but they’d love them anyway (Edward had always known, had never faltered in his support…).

“We’ll talk about it later. Go to sleep,” Malcolm says but Elliot has already drifted off as he usually did after an orgasm. For someone who got off so infrequently, he was surprisingly typical. An enigma. Malcolm’s enigma, and he loves every bit of him, maybe even his imaginary friend, if only just a little.

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone and anyone who has/had a shitty dad, or lost a good one.


End file.
